


Simulacrum

by hygogg



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Missing Your Ex, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 17:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16791484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hygogg/pseuds/hygogg
Summary: Bumblebee and Starscream read together.(Set post-canon. Spoilers for end of IDW TF)





	Simulacrum

“Should I turn the page?”

“I read faster than you. You don’t need to ask.”

Bumblebee – along with Starscream – had gotten into the habit of reading before recharge. It was a nice way to wind down in his – _their_ \- quarters after a day of routine work. Not that he disliked being stationed here, it was safe and not too stressful, but it was nice to finally allow himself to have hobbies and interests without the nagging feeling in the back of his processor that he had something more important he should be doing. Despite his occasional complaints about choice in reading material, Starscream always joined him, sitting next to him on the berth, face close to see the text on the screen of the datapad. 

“The problem isn’t the narrative, it’s the preachiness. Be a good little bot, do good deeds. What about _everything else_? Gets shoved out of sight, doesn’t it? Typical-”

“Shut up, I can’t concentrate.” 

He was getting used to having him close but not physically feeling him. No accidental touches, no feel of the warmth that should be radiating from his frame. Still, just his presence there was nice. 

The crew quarters here were average-sized for housing one bot, so was the berth. He had a desk, a computer screen, and a shelf for personal belongings. Along with datapads for reading, he had a few trinkets placed here and there, he liked making it feel warm and personal for the months he was staying here.

They were finishing the last pages of the novel they’d been reading for the past week. Starscream’s expression was neutral. Not dissatisfied. When they finished the last page, Bumblebee turned off the datapad and put it down in his lap. 

“I liked it.”

“Mm, ‘guess it’s not bad for Autobot schlock.” 

The power of friendship and teamwork saving the day, heroes using their ingenuity to solve problems and save others. Bumblebee couldn’t help but enjoy stories like that. Even if the characters in the story were thinly veiled fictionalised effigies of mechs he knew the not-so-nice sides of, and the ‘conflict’ in the story a pastiche of a real war he had seen too much of.

Starscream spoke up again, stepping the subject aside.

“You know, should apply to one of the sparkling academies you keep getting reports on. You could read to them.” 

_Making sure everyone knows about_ you, _right Starscream?_ Was Bumblebee’s first thought, but he was still surprised to hear a suggestion like that coming from him. He could feel himself blushing.

“A school? Really?”

“Yeah. Sparklings would love you. You’re round and cute.”

More than anything else that had happened the post-war years, newsparks - the new generation of their species being brought to life, being allowed to learn and choose their own function - made Bumblebee feel like the war was finally over.

Education facilities were being started up as a priority, with substantial resources and budget going into them. Bumblebee sometimes had to do formalities relating to them as part of his work, making sure designations and numbers matched up and so on, but that was still far away from actually working with the sparklings. His spark still felt a tug whenever he was sent a picture of them from one of the schools.

The new generation would only know about the war, about Optimus Prime, about everyone else, through stories and retellings. Cybertron was nothing more than the cradle of their species. They’d live without forcing themselves to perceive death and destruction as background noise. Avoiding thinking about things for so long the real challenge becoming keeping your processor straight.

Thinking about it made him feel solemn, but it was hopeful. The future holds no lies or truth, only potential. Or so they say. Maybe it really was his calling as someone of the old generation to help bring up the next one… and to make sure the past was not forgotten. _Look back at the past while always walking towards the future_ , he kept repeating to himself. _Losing yourself in thoughts of what once was could lead to getting stuck there without knowing it._ He shook his head and his thoughts off it.

“Maybe that's not such a bad idea… I could put in a request once my placement here is over…”

“Or, a few threats and bribes could have us out of this station in less than– “

“No.” Bumblebee noticed the ‘ _us_ ’, and couldn’t help a small smile.

He got off the berth, hiding his expression from Starscream with it.

“I’ll find something more to your liking.” Bumblebee went over to his small shelf of personal belongings, pushed an alloy model of an earth car to the side, and found another datapad. He looked at it for a good few seconds before returning with it to the berth.

He propped his back up against the wall with a pillow, sitting down cross-legged. Starscream tilted his head curiously at the new datapad. It showed its age – Bumblebee knew it was a curiosity and that its contents should have been copied into a new datapad and this one discarded of a long time ago by now (he _had_ remembered to back it up, on a storage device forgotten somewhere), but he couldn’t help his sentimentality towards presents from friends. _Friends who are no longer here._

"Here. It’s Decepticon poetry. Possibly from the early days of the movement, or even older than that. Wherever they originate from, they were at least adopted by them and passed around…“ Bumblebee explained as he booted up the datapad. “According to Optimus, anyway. He said they were fairly well-known among your bunch, though during the war the thought of Decepticons as poetry-loving saps would have made for a good joke…” 

He felt like he was babbling, but continued, “There are no dates on 'em, but they were all probably written at different times, _supposedly_ by the same mech, but who can really know, right?”

Starscream remained silent, so Bumblebee continued. “I never took the time to read through them, but I feel kind of guilty about it now. Optimus gave this datapad to me saying it was his favourite poetry collection.” He felt a sting in his spark.

Bumblebee expected a quip from the mention of Optimus, but Starscream only looked at the titles of the poems in the index, as if reading them to himself, over and over again.

"Starscream?

“I know these,” he said, finally, not averting his gaze.

“Oh? So they _are_ famous after all?”

“What I mean is … I _know_ them. The mech who wrote them.”

Starscream swallowed and Bumblebee blinked his optics in surprise.

“You knew a poet?”

Bumblebee didn’t know why he assumed the mech who wrote the poems wasn’t alive. He felt stupid, like he was prying into something not his business.

“M-hm.” Starscream closed his optics and mused quietly. 

“He was a political dissident. A gladiator. A poet. A revolutionary...”

Bumblebee was too distracted by Starscream’s expression to say anything in response. He was was gazing intently into the air, his lips a vague smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Longing optics as if deep in thought, lost somewhere in a faraway time.

Bumblebee couldn’t know what he was thinking of, but he knew what it was like slipping into dreams of yesterday. _Tempting. Comforting._

After another moment of silence, 

“He used to read them for me.” Starscream smiled wryly, a genuinely this time, lowering his voice.  
“…in a berth, like this.”

Silence threatened to descend once again. An intake of breath, as if hesitating,

“Could you… read for me?”

Without meeting Bumblebee’s gaze, Starscream laid himself down on his back on the berth, by Bumblebee’s crossed legs. He placed both hands on his cockpit. 

“Please.” Starscream met his optics briefly, and Bumblebee nodded. His guard was let down. Bumblebee knew he was the only one he allowed himself to be this vulnerable around. _Only one still alive._

“Start with the twelfth one.“ He forced out a small laugh. “He wrote it to me, if you can believe that.” 

The same unreadable expression as earlier returned.

Bumblebee looked down at the datapad, searching for the poem Starscream wanted him to read, stroking a finger under the letters on the screen. _Stardust._

When Bumblebee looked up from the datapad Starscream had shifted his lying position over to his side, hiding his face with it. His legs were now curled up to his chest like a cat. He remained silent as Bumblebee started reciting.

\---

“Do you think you’ll meet him again?”

Their positions on the berth were now reversed, with Bumblebee lying on his back and Starscream sitting up, warm red optics looking down at him.

“What, in the afterspark?”

Bumblebee nodded.

“I don’t know.” Starscream smiled. “I like being with you. You talk to me enough I can’t be annoying you _that_ much.”

“I’ll be with you until you’re ready,” Bumblebee whispered as he closed his optics, wishing he could put his hand on Starscream’s, before he drifted off into recharge.


End file.
